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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828894">A Commonwealth Ghost</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadrea/pseuds/jadrea'>jadrea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wasteland Roaming [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fallout 4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Diamond City, Ever Wonder What NPCs Are Up To When You're Not Talking to Them?, Gen, Ghouls, Goodneighbor (Fallout), Gunners, Mild Language, Raiders, Sanctuary, Super Mutants, Synths, Vault 111, intersection with canon, vault-tec, wandering around the commonwealth</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:55:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>10,148</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828894</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadrea/pseuds/jadrea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Life in the Wasteland was never easy for Mosby, he never expected it to be. But things are made considerably more difficult when his fascination with the pre-war dealings of Vault-Tec leads him to encounter an evil lurking in the depths of the Commonwealth.<br/>('Commonwealth Ghost' arc: Episode 1 of 5)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Wasteland Roaming [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1874065</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Ghost of the Wasteland</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A radstorm was rolling in.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He could always feel it a few minutes before the green-gray clouds blotted out the sun, same way an old fisherman's bones would ache just before the sheets of rain.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Ten minutes, he reckoned. Then he--and everyone else in the market--would have to head for shelter unless they wanted to test their luck in the poisoned air.  </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby took his time poking and prodding at the dregs of his noodle cup, debating whether he'd really seen the last of the noodles move of their own volition or if it was just time on the road catching up to him.   </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A hand clapped his shoulder. He didn't move, but felt the corner of his mouth tic.   </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It was always disconcerting to be approached from that angle. The deep red scar that ran up the side of his neck, splitting his chin and ending at the bridge of his nose, was usually enough to deter anyone who considered doing so.  </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His right eye, glassy and dead, was useless, kept mostly hidden by the brim of his green rag cap. Both eyes narrowed in annoyance.  </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Fitz, you hear the talk?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby didn't need to look to know whose hand it was. Though the voice was distinct enough on its own, the wave of sickly-sweet vapor, a byproduct of Jet, identified the speaker.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No, Solomon, what's the talk?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The merchant slouched onto the stool next to Mosby. "Man, you've been gone a while--you mean you haven't even seen 'em?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Fitz did his best to be patient with the man, often doped up on his own supply and less than coherent. Some days, though, after weeks on the road and a deal gone south, he was in a less than genial mood.  </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Seen who, Solomon?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"The Vault Dweller."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby turned his head slightly, keeping his eye below the brim.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"From 81? That's nothing special."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Not 81," Solomon straightened slightly, "111."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"111?" Mosby's brow furrowed, his cheek contorting around the scar. "Up in Sanctuary Hills? Though that one was long gone."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"It ain't. Well, 'least he got out. Can't speak to the rest of 'em. Thought you'd have already heard, you always seem to be the first to know about Vault-Tech doings."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby's interest in Vault-Tec, the pre-war corporation responsible for the vaults across the Commonwealth, was no secret to the settlements he frequented.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It started as a casual interest, picking up documents here and there. Finding details about vault construction and experiments. Trading for artifacts found by caravans. After a few months, he started to go out of his way to search for lab coats, coffee mugs, clipboards--anything that had been in a vault. The greatest find had been a suit from Vault 114, one he'd filched himself after secreting in through the Park Street Station entrance and nearly getting his head blown off by the Triggermen.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Then he started searching out the vaults themselves, using maps and charts recovered from Vault-Tec offices. Vault 114 had been easy, the Triggermen's headquarters was an open secret. There was little chance of getting inside Vault 81, they were far from welcoming of visitors.   </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The records he had were incomplete, the maps difficult to follow. Roads and landmarks had been radically changed or outright destroyed by the bombs, and he'd had to base much of his searching on rumors. Conjecture of a story heard from a trader, who heard it from a caravan guard, who heard it from a Gunner, that there was a vault in a school up north, or a town to the west.   </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">And that was when he knew this was more than a hobby.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">After a year of blowing off jobs to search for rumored entrances, spending what caps he had left on tips that went nowhere, and drowning his frustrations in Gwinnett stout, he realized he'd have to give it up.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A man couldn't live on curiosity and rumors alone.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Solomon knew, as most of his contacts did, that he'd vowed to give up searching for information on Vault-Tec. Solomon also knew, as most merchants of the Diamond City Market did, that--despite Mosby's strong words--any mention of Vault-Tec made his ears perk up.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">You pissant, he thought.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Solomon, I told you I'm done with all that Vault-Tec shit."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Fitz turned to face him, pushing his cap back on his forehead so Solomon got a full view of his scowl. After a moment, he asked, "Where is this Vault Dweller?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Left town a few days ago, but I reckon he'll be back. Seemed curious about my chems, I guess they didn't have much fun in that Vault of his."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The green cloud appeared on the horizon and a call went up from the edges of the market: "Radstorm, everybody inside!"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Solomon turned to close up his stall, and Fitz caught his arm. "I won't forget this, Solomon."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He let the words linger in the air, to let the merchant decide for himself if it was gratitude or a threat.   </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Alright, folks, let's go--get to shelter." Diamond City Security were herding stragglers toward the low buildings which lined the market's center.  </p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby stood and turned his boots in the direction of the Dugout Inn, for once looking forward to the flat beer and flea-bitten mattress that awaited him there.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Just one more trek couldn't hurt. A little more digging into Vault-Tec's past, sifting through a few more rumors to find any truth. If he played his cards right, he had an in to Vault 111.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">⁎</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He awoke the next day with a bone-deep tension in his left arm, and he knew he'd been got. That tension meant he'd been clenching and unclenching his fist all night, something he only ever did that when he thought about one subject in particular.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No, sorry," the pastor said, after a brief pause. "Don't know much about Vault-Tec. Not many people around here do, I'd guess. Seems we've all got a different boogeyman on our mind, and there are plenty in Diamond City who'd gladly spend an afternoon trading rumors about that."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Pastor Clements founded the All Faiths Chapel, a ramshackle tin-roofed hut that sat at the entrance to the Great Green Jewel. Lovingly tended to, it offered a respite from the strain of the Commonwealth for many passing travelers, Mosby included.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He wasn't a religious man, didn't buy into any of the traveling preachers who proclaimed the word of some diety on high--and there were plenty to choose from.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">But there was something about the Chapel and its kind-faced leader that convinced him to bow his head there for a moment on his first visit to Diamond City, more years ago than he cared to remember, and he'd made a point to stop there on each visit since.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No," Clements repeated, "That's one of those pre-war relics that we don't much think about, though if you look it's all around us. I expect to get any answers," he added wryly, "you'd need to talk to somebody who was there."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby thanked him and turned away.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">If only relics could talk, he mused.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Passing the Super Salon and running a hand across the stubble on top of his head, debating a shave, he caught a few lines from the radio in the back of the shop:</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"-one of the folks worrying in hushed tones about the whereabouts of Diamond City's most effective detective, you can rest easy. Nick Valentine is back in town, and seemingly none the worse for wear-"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Now that's an idea. A long shot, but worth taking.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He knew of the private dick, everyone who passed through Diamond City did. He'd never met him, just heard a few scattered reports of his helping people, solving mysteries. Like the old trench coat-clad heroes of the comics.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby had a mystery to solve, that was certain. Better yet, he'd just found his talking relic.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He legged it to the detective's office, catching the door just as a woman was closing it.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Sorry," she apologized, "Nick's got a meeting across town. We're closing up shop for the afternoon."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'll be quick," Mosby assured her, pushing the door open.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">She caught it and held it fast.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Sorry," she said, more firmly this time, "But he's already left. Unless you want to chase him through the Fens, I'd suggest you come back tomorrow."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">With that, she shut the door with a metallic clang.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Setting his jaw, he raised his fist.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">At his knock, the woman reopened the door. She didn't say a word, just regarded him with an exasperated expression.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Just answer me one question, then I'll leave."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Yes," she said, before he could ask, "he's a synth. Yes, he was made by the Institute--but that doesn't make him some hidden spy, so don't go-"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby blinked a few times. "I don't care about that, I just want to know about Vault-Tec."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">She narrowed her eyes, unsure whether or not to believe him.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I can understand why people'd make the Institute leap, boy, they're paranoid around here, aren't they? But I assure you I don't know a thing about those creeps, I'm here on other business."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Vault-Tec business," she supplied.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He nodded.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"He's never said anything about Vault-Tec to me."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Ah." He'd hoped this long shot might pay off. "Would you let him know I called? I'll stop by tomorrow."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I seem to remember Vault-Tec had a regional office over in Beacon Hill. If I were curious about 'em, I'd start there."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Of course. He could've slapped himself--so long on the road, so long he'd convinced himself he was out of the market for Vault-Tec information, how could he have forgotten about that?</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Right," he backed away as he spoke, "right, I'll do that. Say, still tell him I called-" He'd reached the end of the alley, and started toward the city entrance, "I'll be back."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">*</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It had taken years for Mosby to distinguish one street of the Fens from another. The crumpled metal and ruined buildings tended to all look just the same, blending together in a muddled blur of dirt and red brick.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Eventually, you learned which streets to take and which to avoid, how to take the long route around Diamond City to avoid a cache of feral dogs, how to blend into the shadows as you passed a raider stronghold.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">You learned or you died trying.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Now Mosby headed north, toward the river.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">On this path he risked encountering mutants, but opted for a longer route, one that avoided the tangle of streets on which raiders liked to ambush unsuspecting travelers, caught between a turret and a pack of ferals.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The day was clear, the sun bright and warm where it pierced the veil of the shadowy streets.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A burst of gunfire sounded up ahead and he cut right, ascending the stone steps to the next street over. The buildings were farther apart here, better for visibility but, by the same coin, providing less cover.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He kept to the low stone wall, pace never faltering.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Just before the wall ended, he stopped. There was an ever-present ringing in his right ear, now at a low drone, but through it he could've sworn he heard-</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He pressed his back against the wall and listened.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">There it was again. A scuffling, worn leather soles against pavement.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A few yards ahead lay Trinity Plaza. A dash across the pavement could be suicide, the sparse trees and benches provided little protection from the high vantage points around the square.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Behind was the gunfire, coming closer by the moment.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">And on the other side of the wall, the Library. And the owner of the scuffling shoes.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby took only a moment of decision, before turning back the way he'd come and following the wall to its end at the top of a short staircase. At the bottom were three figures, two standing, one crouching.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The latter had a bobby pin in hand, furiously attempting to pick the lock of a side door.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">All had pistols, though none were drawn.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Most Wastelanders had sense enough to keep their piece close at hand. Perhaps they weren't expecting trouble.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They hadn't noticed him yet, intently watching the lock picker at work, whispering hushed encouragement.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They weren't dressed like Gunners, didn't carry themselves like raiders.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He took a guess: scavengers.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Having trouble with that door?" he asked.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">All jumped, though only one went for their gun. Either scavengers or first-time visitors from the outer settlements.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Don't worry." Mosby made it clear not drawing would be in the scavenger's best interest, and their hand fell away from their hip. "Just passing by. Try the front door, some loose boards you could break through easier than this door."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Are you crazy?" the one on the left, who'd gone for their gun, hissed, "Riskin' our neck for this and you want-"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The other interrupted. "Say, stranger, how'd you like to make a few caps?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Frankie," the lock picker protested, "we-"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Frankie persisted, "There's plenty of loot in there, say we cut you in."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby holstered his pistol, wondering what sort of fool they took him for.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I've got caps plenty," he lied, and began to retrace his steps along the wall.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"C'mon, it's easy money. We're nearly through this door, why'd you want to miss an opportunity like this?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"An opportunity to get a bullet in my back? I'll pass."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Wait, fella," Frankie took a few steps closer and Mosby's hand drifted, ever so smoothly, back toward his hip. The scavenger stopped. "Listen, truth is we're outgunned and outmanned. Place is crawling with mutants-"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I know," Mosby said. "That's why I'm leaving."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"-there really is loot in there, you know there is. Untouched, least since the mutants have been in there--piles and piles of loot. Think of the caps!"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Can't, I'm too busy thinking about what the mutants'll do when they catch you."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Fella, I know you've hit hard times. You reek of it--it's a reek I'm very familiar with. One desperate galoot to another, will you help us out?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby considered.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He drew his pistol and the scavengers tensed, but the gun remained by his side.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I don't do cuts or percentages. Every man for themselves, what you carry's what you get."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You're a fella I can do business with. Reg, get that door open."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He should care about the caps. Think of the loot, Mosby argued with himself, with those caps he could afford better grub, a better piece, hell, even a haircut. He could lie and say it was for the caps that he'd agreed to help the looters.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">But, as he followed them inside, all he could think about was a set of shelves a few floors up, which held local records. He'd seen them a few years ago, the first and only time he'd visited the library--Mosby never was one for reading to pass the time. The shelf had caught his eye as he dodged out of the path of a raider's bullet, and he'd made a note to revisit it.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">When he'd made that mental reminder, he hadn't anticipated the subsequent visit to occur when the library was under Super Mutant control.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">This was an astoundingly bad idea.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His left fist began once again to curl and uncurl. Damn, I've got it bad.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The door opened into a room full of burnt pages and the scattered remnants of broken desks and bookcases.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Watch the 'nades," Frankie whispered, and the others glanced up to see the bouquet of grenades hanging just overhead.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby had been caught by one of those delights once before, and a piece of shrapnel had buried itself so deep in his leg he thought it'd fuse to the bone. He gave it a wide berth, hugging the far wall. A super mutant lay dead in the middle of the room, next to it a decaying body. From the ragged clothes and pieced-together pipe pistol, it appeared they were a previous scrounger whose attempt to loot been less than successful.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Frankie moved past it without a second glance. "Through here."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">As they went, the other two scavengers slid open filing cabinets and ransacked what desk drawers were still intact.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby, pistol in hand--he'd opted for the smaller, quieter piece, and stowed his beloved hunting rifle in a hidden nook deep in the Financial District--eyed them as he crept past.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They had sense to know not to barge in through the front door, but not enough to stay quiet. They're all but asking to go toe-to-toe with one of those brutes.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The halls were eerily quiet as they made their way toward the heart of the building. At a branching corridor, Frankie turned.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Split up, everybody grab what they can. Meet back at that side door, we'll go out the way we came in. You run into trouble, start shooting."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">With the sort of trouble super mutants bring, you'd have little other option than to start shooting. Mosby watched them go, then continued on. Up ahead was a large room with soaring ceilings. No good, too much wide open space with little cover. He could smell the mutants now, through the handkerchief pulled taut over his nose and mouth. Rotting flesh and blood.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Though rank, the smell no longer shocked him. He didn't blink, didn't gag, at the pungent odor of death.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Roaming the Wasteland hardened you, both body and mind. Little unnerved him these days.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A bathroom appeared on his right, and he surveyed the room. There, in the corner: a bit of the plaster was crumbling, drooping under its own weight.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Clambering atop the sink, he tugged at the material until it came free and showered him with dust. In its wake, there was a hole just big enough for him to hoist himself through. Pushing through the floor above, he quickly ducked back into the narrow space between floors at the thumping footsteps in the corridor beyond.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His first encounter with the mutants who called the building home.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Nothing happen here," one was complaining. "Want fresh meat."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Brother went for fresh meat."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Why not Brother back by now? He follow puny human, that easy prey."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The other grunted. "Been here too long, make you lazy."</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Want fight," his companion agreed.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They moved along the hall and, after a few moments, Mosby emerged from the floor and pulled himself up.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He peered around the open door and attempted to get his bearings. Straight ahead were windows looking out over the courtyard, to his left the receding backs of two super mutants. He opted for the opposite direction, and, at a hurried crouch, headed for the shelves.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Lucky break--a few shelves over, he saw the sign he needed: 'GEOGRAPHY.'</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Ducking through the shelves in case prying eyes were cast his way, he scanned the spines of the surviving books.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They were badly water-damaged, missing covers and many in tatters. Mosby had heard rumor of a mission launched by someone calling himself 'Curator,' attempting to recover intact books, or was it to collect and strip them for materials? He couldn't be sure.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Maybe he'd missed it. There were large sections of the shelf that were bare, disturbed dust evidence that they'd once held books. Then, there--the cover was in tatters, the spine ragged and worn, but the shelf placement was right.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The title, obscured by dust, didn't interest him: '-alth of Mass-'</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">One word caught his eye: 'maps.' That, he could understand.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Extracting the book and flipping it open on his knee sent a wave of powdery gray dust in all directions. The landmarks were vaguely familiar, though destroyed and displaced by the centuries.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He turned the pages until he recognized a map, similar to the one he had crudely sketched himself. It depicted an area to the northwest, with settlements he recognized--there was Lexington. Concord. And there: Sanctuary Hills.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Purported origin of this mysterious Vault Dweller. And, if Solomon's rumors had any merit, the home of a long-lost Vault 111.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He gingerly brushed dirt off the pages, which began to crumble beneath his fingers. Leaning closer, he could just make out a large swath of land to the north of the town marked 'Private Land.'</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Could it be...?</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He flipped a few more pages, scanning for names, for anything. Some clue to confirm his suspicion.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">'Parcel to the north of Sanctuary Hills purchased by Vault-Tec, 2067. Land in development.'</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">That clinches it, Vault-Tec would only use land that far out of the city for one thing.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"A noise?"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby tensed. He'd been so wrapped up in the book, he'd gone and gotten himself flanked.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Someone there!"</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He dropped the book and drew his pistol, though it'd do little against the hulking green beasts.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The first shot whizzed past his cheek as he rounded the end of the shelf, fired a few shots in the direction of the mutants--shit, there were more than he'd thought.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Steps pounding the ground, he slipped and slid on loose pages and nearly lost his footing as he turned the corner. Another mutant stood waiting at the end of the hall.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Out the window, he could see into the windows across the courtyard, where more mutants were headed his way. The commotion had alerted every damn one of them.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">As he watched, three figures took advantage of the confusion and headed for the front entrance. They would have no trouble with the boards, just as he'd expected. Should've fucking blasted them when he had the chance. God damn scavengers.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">An open door to his left. He ran inside, ducking gunfire, and found himself at a dead end.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The one intact room in the whole damn building, and he'd gone and chosen it to get cornered in.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">One of the windows was free of boards, facing out onto Trinity Plaza.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Between a two-story drop and a faceful of lead, he'd take his chances with the window.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The mutants converged in the doorway as he reached the wall, curling in on himself and covering his head with his arms.</p>
<p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby crashed through the panes, felt broken edges slash through his skin. As he fell, his foot caught on a stone protrusion and sent him tumbling head-over-heels. He hit the ground in a shower of broken glass.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Good, Goodneighbor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>After the less-than-successful raid of the Boston Library, Mosby makes a stop in Goodneighbor before continuing his journey for answers in the heart of the city.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="zw-paragraph">Every step was like swallowing a mouthful of nails, feeling them burst into his chest and fill his gut with jagged edges.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">His feet followed the route by their own power, which was convenient as the rest of his senses were in no state to provide additional information.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">There, just ahead--the gate. He'd never been so relieved to see it.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">His eyes narrowed at the bright neon light above the doorway, already struggling to focus amid the hazy white fog around the edges of his vision.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">Through the door, stumbling across the rough cobblestones of the courtyard. Under the rough, hand-painted sign reading 'Daisy's Discounts.' To the counter, numb fingers gripping the edge to hold himself upright.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"Stim-stimpak," he gasped, slapping a pile of caps on the counter with a clumsy swipe of his hand.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">The ghoul behind the counter didn't blink. "Sure thing."</p><p class="zw-paragraph">She passed the syringe across the counter and he sagged back against the wall, plunging the needle into his chest. As the pak injected, he felt his ribs snapping back into place, his lungs inflating in one shuddering breath, another.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">He sighed, and flexed his aching shoulder. "Thanks."</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"You're five caps short," she said, in answer, "But I thought I'd be nice and let you use it, a dead customer ain't a paying customer, after all."</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"Appreciate the thought," he said wryly, passing over what he owed.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">He glanced ruefully down at his now-bloodstained clothes.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"I don't supposed you've got a spare set of rags?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph">A new bundle of clothes under his arm--no more clean, but far less blood-spattered--Mosby rounded the corner to the Hotel Rexford. Retrieving the key, he made for the stairs but found his way blocked.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"Hey, man, looking for work?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph">Mosby tried to brush him off, but the man ducked in front of him again. "I've got a job that's perfect for you."</p><p class="zw-paragraph">He'd made the mistake of doing an errand or two for Fred Allen, resident chem dealer of the Hotel, only to find himself badgered every time he set foot in Goodneighbor.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"I told you I'm not doing any more of your drug runs," Mosby said, managing to push past.</p><p class="zw-paragraph">"C'mon, Fitz!"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby ignored him and ascended to his room, all dulled floorboards and ragged sheets. He fell into bed and, with what little strength he had left, remove his gun from its holster to place within fingers’ reach.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Then, boots hanging off the end of the bed and the splintered bed post digging painfully into his shin, he fell into the dreamless dark.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">*</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He awoke hours later with ears ringing. It took a few moments of blinking up at the ceiling to realize it came from the banging on the door.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Retreiving his gun from the floor, he shuffled over to open it.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Yeah?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You've overslept check-out time, need this room for somebody else."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby protested, "I paid my caps like anybody else."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You did," Clair, the manager, agreed, "Paid one night's caps, not two. Out."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The man yawned, scratching absently at the irritated skin around the scar on his cheek, and shuffled into the hallway.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He headed for the stairs and he spotted a trench coat-clad man descending ahead of him. Was it-?</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He got a better look as the figure paused on the landing, and frowned. He'd hoped to find the detective here, get a chance to question him about Vault-Tec out of his cushy Diamond City office. But the figure in front of him was just another guest of the Hotel.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">As he watched, the man pulled a cigar box from an inside pocket and seemed to regard it ruefully for a moment.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Figures," he muttered.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0"><em>Hm</em>, Mosby though, and patted his own pockets to find a few scattered cigarettes tucked into his shirt pocket, one or two more stashed in the hem of his shirt sleeve.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The light flashed off the lid of the cigar box, revealing a familiar yellow logo.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby nearly tripped down the stairs in his haste to offer the man a cigarette.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Here, friend," he said, with an easy smile, "Looks like you're out."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The ghoul gave him a suspicious look, but his desire for a smoke won out. "Thanks."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Say, nice cigar box." Mosby offered a light, shaking the match out as the fire bit close his fingertips. "Quite a keepsake."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The man scoffed. "Hardly makes up for what they put me through."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby kept his tone casual. "Vault-Tec, you mean? What'd they do to you?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Made me like this!" He spread his arms, "This irradiated freak. Years of service hocking their vision of the future, their stupid vault system, and you know how they repay me? By denying me entry to the vault, kicking me out into the Wasteland."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Rough luck," Mosby remarked.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'll say," the other spat. "Spent days going door-to-door in Sanctuary, met my quota and then some. And, you know, I didn't even get that set of specialty steak knives for doing it."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You worked up in Sanctuary Hills?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Two hundred years ago, anyway."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"That's Vault 111 territory, isn't it? Up north of town?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The ghoul narrowed his eyes. "What of it?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Read it in a book somewhere," Mosby said. "You ever go back there?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Why would I? They didn't let me in the first time, what makes you think I'd want in now?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Thought there might be some good loot in there."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Maybe so, but nothing that's worth my head. You don't want to hang around those parts, it's dangerous territory up there. I'll stay right here, thanks very much. Haven't been shot or shouted at in months, and I'm planning on keeping it that way." He turned to go, smoke trailing in his wake, then turned back. "You after that? Vault-Tec loot?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby gave a noncommittal shrug.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Here." The ghoul tossed him the cigar box. "You take this. Vault-Tec'll let you down, just you wait."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Before Mosby could reply, the man was gone.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Fred Allen was occupied his usual position in the Hotel's lobby, and once again attempted to snag Mosby as he headed for the door.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Look, Fitz, this is a real quick one-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">When Mosby didn't humor him with a reply, Fred called, "Fine, I'll find some other sucker to do it. Ah, good sir, that's would you be interested in a--hey, nice Pip Boy! Careful with that around here, plenty of people'd be happy to take that off your hands."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The door shut behind him, and Mosby headed for the Third Rail.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He needed information about Vault-Tec, and that meant heading to the Regional HQ, just a few blocks away. Before that, though, he needed a drink.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Even the watered-down swill of the Third Rail would do.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Nodding to the doorman, he made his way into the former subway station. The strains of the joint's resident singer, Magnolia, drifted through the doorway. She sang one of those songs about running away, drinking to forget--things he knew well. Seemed everyone in the commonwealth had a past they'd rather not remember.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It was a tune Travis over in Diamond City played over and over on the radio until it got stuck in your head and scored your one-sided firefights against a Mirelurk along the banks of the river.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He couldn't help but hum along, under his breath.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Well, Fitz Mosby," the bartender greeted him, "Surprised to see you here. Thought my telling you to piss off was more than clear."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Ham let me in." Mosby slid onto a stool, wincing at the ache in his still-sore muscles.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Ham's a pillock. As I recall, you skipped on your tab last time you graced us with your presence."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"What's a few caps 'tween friends?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'm sure it's nothing. Between us, on the other hand..."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Tell you what, Charlie," Mosby was in no mood to quarrel, "I'll pay it as soon as I'm done drinking my fill. Charge me twice for all I care. Just get me the coldest bottle you've got."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You're in fine form today." A bottle was placed in front of him.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You're right, where are my manners? Lemme buy you a drink--oh, right."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">If the bot could frown, he would. "Ham may have let you in, but that don't mean he won't throw you back out."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby held up his hands. "Alright, alright. Apologies."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He set the cigar box on the bar next to him, resting his chin on his hand and listening to Magnolia finish the song.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You still searching out that Vault-Tec rubbish?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No, gave that up months ago."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">One of the bot's eyestalks looked down at the box, then back at him. "Sure."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I know a trader what can get you a fine selection of Vault-Tec's trash. Most people toss it out--but not you."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Yeah, not me." Mosby took a swig from the bottle, which wasn't so much cold as it was a few degrees off of room-temperature. "I'm a pillock, too."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Man's entitled to his particular tastes." Whitechapel Charlie replied, swabbing the bar with a dirty rag. "That reminds me, you in the market for a job? Same vein as the others, easy caps."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Find somebody else, I'm done doing your dirty work."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Oh, grown a heart now, have we? Dangerous for a man to go soft in this Wasteland, Mosby."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'm not going soft, I just want to drink in peace. That too much to ask?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Charlie rolled his eyes, as much as a bot could. "Don't you try and slip out on paying again, you won't walk out of here so easily again."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Yeah, yeah."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The bartender moved off down the bar, and Mosby was left in momentary, blissful silence. He turned to watch Magnolia as she launched into another tune, this one a more upbeat diddy about training to go to war. Despite the quicker tempo, Mosby felt exhaustion catching up and straightened on his chair, fighting to keep his eyes open.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Nearby conversations caught his ear, and he focused on them to keep himself occupied.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"-a good job. Think of the caps."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"But the Gunners? They're bad news, Armand, not the type you work with. Caps or not."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You're just paranoid."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'm still alive, ain't I?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Further down the bar, Whitechapel Charlie greeted a newcomer.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Ah, the Commonwealth's own synth detective. I'm sure I can find some oil around here somewhere, if you'd like a nip."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Real funny," the synth replied.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby jerked to attention, his gaze following the voices.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The trench coat, the hat--it was him. At least, it was what Mosby'd heard he looked like.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He slid off his stool.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You Valentine?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"That's right." The synth tipped his hat back on his head to get a better look at Mosby. "Can I help you with something?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No--well, I s'pose, yeah."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'm on a case at the moment, but if you head to my office in Diamond City, my secretary will take your details-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"It's not about a case. I've got some questions about the past. Before the war."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Valentine regarded him through narrowed yellow eyes.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Let's have a seat."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"It's about a vault, up to the northwest," Mosby said, leading the way to an empty table. "Near Sanctuary. Heard you were working a job with somebody who said they're from around there."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Valentine nodded. "Vault 111. I'm meeting 'em here. Kid was kidnapped."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Kidnapped from a vault?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Hard to believe, I know. They were in some sort of cryostasis. Kept that way since the bombs fell."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"And you were around then, weren't you? Before the bombs, I mean."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Valentine's jaw tightened. "In a way."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It was obviously a sore subject, but Mosby forged ahead. "You remember much about it?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"If this is some attempt to get me to cough up the location of some hidden weapons cache, or long-buried treasure-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No, no, it's about Vault-Tec. You remember much about them?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Vault-Tec? Not much. Seems they were everywhere. Couldn't go two feet without a billboard or one of those damn pesky representatives reminding you to reserve your spot in a vault. Not that I needed one." He shifted in his chair. "They had a choke hold on weapons development and technology, it was hard not to know about them. Come to think of it, it's hard to avoid 'em these days, too. There's skeletons of what they did all across the Commonwealth."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Seems they're nearly as hard to escape as the Institute."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The detective drummed his fingers on the table, his skeletal digits making a metallic click-click. "If the Institute is the Wasteland's boogeyman, Vault-Tec is the Commonwealth's ghost."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Know anything about more Vault 111?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Nothing more than I've already said." He raised an eyebrow.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby answered the unasked question. "Just curious. Thanks for your help."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">As Mosby started to get up, Valentine said, "Of all the rabbit holes in the Wasteland to go barking down, not many choose Vault-Tec's. What makes you so interested? If you don't mind me asking."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It was a good question, one Mosby wasn't even sure the real answer to. He supposed it was some way to learn what life was once like. Some absurd belief that if he followed these clues and discovered the answers, it'd hold the key to some great question.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Like you said, they're the Commonwealth's ghost. I suppose I'm trying to figure out why it's haunting us, what it has to say."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Well, good luck to you." Valentine stood. "If you figure that out, there are plenty of us around that would like to know."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">*</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">In theory, it's a straight shot.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">From the gate of Goodneighbor to the Vault-Tec Regional HQ, it's only a few blocks. Should be easy. Again, in theory, just a walk in the park.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">But the Wasteland doesn't work on theory, it takes you easy mosey-down-the-street plans and twists them, by sending you through the Commons to tango with the Swan, or right into a raiders' den.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Or, in this case, right past a Gunners camp. They occupied the Mass Fusion Building, right on Goodneighbor's doorstep.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0"><em>That crackpot mayor of theirs should take care of this</em>, Mosby thought, crouched behind the rusted-out shell of a pre-war vehicle. He pondered next steps.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He could rush them, head-on. They wouldn't expect it, be caught off guard for a second or two at most, then their laser pistols would tear him apart in ways a Stimpak couldn't reverse.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Alternatively, he could stay low and make his way around, though prospects on that front were just as grim. The streets of the Financial District were teeming with all kinds of undesirable confrontations, not the least of which were Super Mutants. He'd already brushed shoulders with the supers once this week, he wasn't keen on doing it again so soon.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby risked a glance at the front of the building. There were only three figures, two of whom had their backs to him. The other was leaning against the barricade, poking at something on the ground with the toe of their boot. Even bored Gunners weren't to be trifled with.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>Suppose I...</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He lined up the shot, took a short breath in, fired. The first figure fell. Another shot rang out as the second wheeled around, and they crumpled to the ground.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He ducked back behind the car as the third straightened, looking around for the source of the shots.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Hiding, asshole?" they called, "Come on, show your face."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Staying low and out of sight, Mosby crept to the side of the building, pressing a shoulder against the warm bricks. He took another breath in, held it, and cut around the corner.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Gunner got off a single shot before Mosby's pistol barked, and they went down.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby lowered his piece. Those shots would've drawn Gunners from the inside of the building, not to mention any other interested party who may be around.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He hastened ahead, pausing only to check corners as he crossed from street to street. Finally, the building loomed up ahead of him.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Glancing around and seeing no one, Mosby ducked inside.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The place was in shambles, not that it came as any surprise. There were a few spots across the Commonwealth that, against all odds, remained as pristine as the day the bombs fell, he passage of time marked only by rotting food in the fridge.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Vault-Tec offices were a mess: floor tiles bent out of place, crumbling ceilings, shattered glass across the lobby.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby picked his way across the floor, headed for the front desk. The terminal was blown out--that'd be no help.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He wasn't sure exactly what he was searching for, figuring he'd know it when he saw it. His fist began to clench and unclench, and he glared down at it.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A noise from a back hallway. He snapped to attention.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The place appeared to be abandoned, but appearances could be deceiving.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Carefully, Mosby followed the sound, glancing behind the front desk and seeing nothing. He continued down the hall, squinting inside the darkened room to his right. Nothing.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Ahead, a scurrying. He steadied his pistol only to see a mole rat dart into the hall, give him a frightened look, and hurry on its way.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>Don't have time for pest control.</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby turned back, gun lowering, and the swipe at his head caught him off guard. He fell against the wall, eyes swimming with stars. The snarling all around alerted him that he'd stumbled into a nest of feral ghouls, hiding in the darkened, untouched rooms. He was well and truly fucked now.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby fired a few blind shots, hearing a pained growl as at least one made contact.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0"><em>Up, go up</em>--he'd seen stairs in the lobby.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">As his vision cleared, he pushed forward, swinging his gun to knock his attacker off balance and losing a shot into its head. Mounting the stairs, he shot two more ferals and, across the open lobby, spotted an open door on the second floor.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The stairs were blocked by debris, felled ceiling tiles serving as a crude ramp to the third floor. Seeing no other option, he took it, scrambling up and scraping his palms on the rough metal surface. More snarling ahead--he needed to get to that office, barricade himself in.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Sure, it'd be far easier to leave. But he'd fought his way here, and he'd be damned if he left without finding something, <em>anything</em> more about Vault-Tec.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Just around the corner was another staircase leading down. Not pausing to think, he dashed down it, heading in the direction of the room he'd spotted from the lobby. Turning another corner, he heard a tell-tale whirring.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>A working terminal? In this dump?</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Darting toward it, he cleared the room in a glance and closed the door behind him. There on the desk, glowing a faint blue-green against the black screen, log entries. Dates from 200 years past.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby set his gun on the table and sat gingerly in the broken chair. Scanning the entries, his brow furrowed.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Experiments?" He spoke to the empty room. "Were Vault-Tec doing-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Entries detailing chem shipments, experiment parameters.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">There: a shipment of cryostasis equipment to Vault 111 in Sanctuary Hills.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>So that Vault Dweller was telling the truth.</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The final entry:</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>"These experiments...what are we doing to these people? We're supposed to protect them, we promise them safe haven from the bombs when they fall. If they fall. And we're signing them up to be guinea pigs."</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He'd known Vault-Tec was less than honest in some of their dealings, but experimenting on their customers?</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Every vault..."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The snarling outside the door grew louder. He'd been distracted by the terminal, not paid attention to the stumbling footsteps in the hall.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">More, he needed more. Needed some explanation as to why, how they could do this.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The door slid open.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Not now, you irradiated fucks."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Clearing the hallway proved to be more difficult than he'd anticipated, winging the ferals in the shoulder only seemed to make them angrier. He was running low on ammo, searching for some way out.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The elevator.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He'd visited the HQ before, but never ventured down.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Vaulting over the railing and landing hard on the desk below, he staggered to the elevator and punched the button with a fist. The ferals were just coming down the stairs as the doors opened at his back.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They slid closed again and he was granted a moment of silence, the only sound a gentle whooshing as the car changed floors. The lights flickered a few times, then the elevator announced, "Basement."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Stacks and stacks of Vault-Tec trunks, bunk beds, files. Rows of shelves holding provisions, equipment. Heaven for a scavenger.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby walked slowly through the shelves, looking at the brightly-colored cases. Months ago, he'd have been ecstatic. Now, looking at it made him sick. He suspected it wasn't just from the rads.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Another glowing terminal beckoned him from a desk beside a door.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Construction on Vault 114 at a stand-still, progress halted as subjects are sought to fill Overseer position"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Proj. Summanus is go, green light received from U.S. Army. Weapon specifications to follow [FILE CORRUPTED]"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Equipment sent to Vault 111, everything in order. Staff to be told 'All Clear' coming 180 days after bombs. Not to be informed of true nature of vault experiment."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby pushed back in the chair, keeping the desk at arm's length. As if the distance would make the information easier to swallow.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He didn't know anything about this 'Project Summanus' and, though the corrupted memo drew his interest, was far more interested in the Vault 111 experiments--it must have something to do with the cryostasis.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>But why wouldn't the staff be told? What was Vault-Tec hiding? </em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby wondered if the 'All Clear' had ever come. If there had even been anyone around to send it.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He'd read enough.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <span class="EOP"> It was time to head to Sanctuary. Time to see Vault 111 for himself. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Frozen in Time</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Vault 111 wasn't the treasure trove he'd imagined. Sick to death of chasing Vault-Tec's ghost, he finds a job in an unlikely place.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby was met on the edge of town by a man in a tattered brown coat and tricorner hat.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Afternoon," the man said, holding a laser musket with an easy, gentle grip. Mosby took the hint and kept his hand free and far from his holster.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Hello," he returned. "Wasn't expecting to see anyone around."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"We're just moving in. More than willing to trade, but we're not looking for trouble."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'm not looking to cause any." Mosby smiled. "Just passing through."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The man seemed to relax, slinging his musket across his back. "Good to hear." He led the way up the hill, speaking over his shoulder. "Name's Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"The Minutemen?" Not many things shocked Mosby, but this caught him by surprise. "I thought you guys were long gone."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Garvey flashed a wry smile. "We were, there, for a time. But we're building our strength back up, one settlement at a time. And we're always looking for new recruits-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby stopped him with a polite but firm, "Appreciate the work you do, but--not interested. I'm Fitz Mosby."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Well, Mosby, what brings you to Sanctuary?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Don't you worry, I'm not interested in your town. I'm headed north, to Vault 111."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Heard about that, did you? We just learned of it ourselves, had some help over in Concord from somebody saying they'd been trapped in that vault since the bombs fell."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Hm," Mosby nodded, "Word about the Vault Dweller seems to be getting around."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'll let you get on your way," Garvey said. "You change your mind about joining up, you know where we are."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He tipped his hat and headed back toward the edge of town to resume his patrol.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">In the center of town a concrete slab, once the foundation of a pre-war house, had been cleared. Two bedraggled figures were struggling to erect the wooden walls of a makeshift shelter. One let out a cry of pain as a nail bit into his hand, and the wall began to fall back towards him.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The other managed to get clear, but the falling planks would have knocked right into the injured man had Mosby not caught hold of it.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Th-thanks," the man said, cradling his hand. Blood ran in streaks down his arm, the cut must be deep.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You should get that looked at, kid," Mosby said, holding the wall steady so it could be hammered into place. "You got a medic around here?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"No medic," the other man, clad in blue overalls and a ragged shirt, answered. "Not since Quincy. Jun, have Mama Murphy patch you up, she's good at that sort of thing."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Jun walked in the direction of one of the few standing structures, looking dejected. The other introduced himself as Sturges.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You joining up?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The two finished securing the wall, and Mosby stepped backing, dusting off his hands. "Just passing through. If you don't mind me saying so, you folks seem desperate for new members."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"That's 'cause we are. Lost a lot of good people recently, looking for help wherever we can get it." He gestured to the shack, "Thanks for your help, all the same."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby nodded and moved off, eyes set on the glinting of metal atop the nearby hill.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">After a dusty trek up the dirt road, he saw it.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It wasn't the first vault he'd seen, but the feeling never got old. That sense of awe, at the gear-shaped opening cut into the earth. The promise of what lay behind, or, in this case, below.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He searched the area, scavenging a few errant bottles of Rad-X and a handful of rusty tools.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">In the battered trailer just to the left of the platform, he found what he was looking for: the switch to operate the elevator.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His fist began its usual twitching, and he stuffed it in his pocket to quiet the movement.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Those experiments, the twisted things Vault-Tec was doing to its own people. He thought, for a moment, maybe he could convince himself he wasn't interested. Turn back, book it to Bunker Hill and sign on to the next caravan out of town. Try and make back some of the caps he'd wasted on this fool's errand.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby activated the elevator and strode to the platform.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He could lie to himself about plenty, but this--not this.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The platform descended into the earth with a <em>whoosh</em>, and he could see only darkness.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">*</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"What do you mean you haven't found it yet?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Commonwealth's a big place, lots of places to hide things. We'll find it."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You'd better, or it'll be your head on a stake."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Don't waste my time with your empty threats, Fink." The man sounded irritated, like the speaker had simply knocked him in the shoulder and not threatened his life. "You paid us to find your damn artifact and we'll do it."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The speaker, Fink, was unsuccessful in hiding the sudden pallor that crept over his face. He attempted to regain some edge in the exchange.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Well you'd better hurry it up." He flicked ash from his pipe, puckering his lips around the stem and making a few loud <em>pup-pup</em>s as he inhaled the smoke. "I have clients too, you know, and they're making it clear I'm running out of time."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He received a stony glare in return.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"We're all running out of time, Fink."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A moment of uneasy silence.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0"><em>Pup-pup</em>.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Fink cleared his throat. "After you've finished, I don't want to see hide nor hair of you and your gang of bloodsuckers. You shan't speak a word of our dealings."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Not a problem," the man drawled, his eyes flashing. "We'll find your piece."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He slipped on a hood, pulled it low over his face, and disappeared.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">*</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>They didn't even stand a chance.</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">An old friend once told him that sentiment was a one-way ticket to disaster, a sure-fire way to get yourself killed.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Gotta keep your head on straight," they'd said. "Think too much and you'll slip up. You'll miss the shot, and the fella shooting back won't."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby agreed. At least, he told himself he did.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Commonwealth is a dangerous place. People are bound to bite the big one. You rarely see it coming, and, if you did, it didn't make it any easier. He all but repeated it to himself every day</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">But standing in front of the pods, staring at the frozen, still faces inside, he felt that old enemy sentiment sweeping up upon him.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They didn't know what they were walking in to, they couldn't have. The experiment was designed that way.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The staff, mislead. The civilians, scared out of their minds.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby eyed the pod on the end, the only one that was open. If the Vault Dweller's story was true, that'd be the one that held 'em. He stood with his back to it, and stared ahead into the lifeless eyes of the figure opposite.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Would've been a hell of a shock to wake up to this, the only one living in a room full of frozen corpses.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His fist clenched so tightly his knuckles cracked.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Reaching into one of his jacket pockets, he retrieved the cigar box. Staring at it, lip curling in revulsion, he dropped it at the foot of the open pod.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The radroaches, scurrying along the shadows at the far end of the room, watched him go.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">One last thing, then he could leave this hellish place.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Overseer's terminal would hold the vault's secrets, things even the highest-level staff wouldn't know. He didn't know what he was searching for.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">There wouldn't be any explanation as to why they did this, how the bastards at Vault-Tec could stomach it. What could have driven them to use innocents as test subjects.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The terminal, humming with life, was ice-cold under his fingers.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Cryogenic array: offline"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Life Support: offline"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"CONFIDENTIAL: Vault 111 is designed to test the long-term effects of suspended animation on unaware, human subjects-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby backed out of the screen with a disquieted shake of his head.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Then an entry caught his eye: "CONFIDENTIAL PROJECT SUMMANUS"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"'Summanus,'" he repeated. He'd seen that name before, at Vault-Tec HQ.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He opened the file, and read:</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"PROJECT SUMMANUS is nearing the end of the development phase, and will soon enter testing phase. As Vault 111 is the nearest Vault-Tec site to the holding facility, we found it necessary to share its status. The recent minor leak of information to the public about the progress of the project is unacceptable, and no further slip-ups will be tolerated. The responsible parties have been terminated. Should any residents or staff of Vault 111 show signs of interest in the project, do not reveal its existence. As far as the public knows, the project was terminated at the time of the breach."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He read the entry again, hoping it'd make more sense the second time around. When it didn't, he sighed and pushed back from the terminal.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>Another one of those Vault-Tec ghosts.</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The trek back to Sanctuary felt even longer than the first.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">When Mosby arrived, he felt a much more somber mood in the air.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Did you find whatever it was you were looking for?" Preston Garvey asked, meeting him on the road out of town.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby didn't reply, forcing giving a noncommittal smile. "I'll be out of your hair now."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Actually," Garvey sounded tired, far more so than when they'd spoken hours before, "I know you said you're not interested in joining-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'm not."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"-but the Minutemen could really use your help. We have caps, it's not much, but we're willing to pay."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"What happened to your Vault Dweller? Can't they lend a hand?" The words came out with more of a bite than Mosby had intended.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Vault Dweller, whoever they were, were just as much a victim of Vault-Tec as everyone else in that god-forsaken vault. He knew that, of course he did; but at the moment, seeing anything that reminded him of Vault-Tec made his vision go red.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Haven't been back yet. And we can't afford to wait around."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby puffed a short sigh through his nose. Though he thought them over-ambitious, these were good people.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Anything to get his mind off--well, off everything.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Will you help?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"What's the problem?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Garvey seemed to sense this was Mosby's way of saying he was friend, not foe, and looked relieved.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"We scouted the area beforehand, it seemed clear--and for a while, it was. But the Gunners, they've moved in near here. Straightened out a bit of railroad track and got one or two of those old train cars rolling again. They haven't attacked us yet, but we've seen their patrols nearby. We heard a settlement to the east was hit the week before last. It's only a matter of time before they come for us."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"A train car? That's not like the Gunners, they'd never pick a site they couldn't defend. On the tracks, they're sitting ducks."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Not necessarily." Garvey's voice was grim. "They've outfitted the things with steel walls and turrets, can't even get within a mile of the thing without it blasting you to kingdom come. And the Gunners inside are armed to the teeth."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"How are they running? Ain't the sort of thing you can push along by hand."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Minuteman shrugged. "Never gotten close enough to see."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"So you want me to...take care of them."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Hit them before they hit us."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"And how exactly am I supposed to do that?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'll leave that to your imagination."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0"><em>This is madness</em>, Mosby thought. <em>It's suicide.</em></p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I'll do it," he said aloud. "Better have those caps you promised."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Even Garvey seemed surprised he'd agreed. "Let us know what we can do to help. I won't put my people in harm's way, but they'll handle themselves if they need to."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Mosby turned to go. "For all our sakes."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">*</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The screaming of metal scraping on metal reached him long before the source itself came into view.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Mosby bellied up to the edge of the rocky outcropping, peering down. What he saw made him glad he'd taken the long way around.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A great metal beast lay before him--walls reinforced by thick metal plates, two turrets affixed to the front and rear of the roof, surrounded on all sides by armored Gunners. They moved alongside as it moved, wheels struggling on the uneven track.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They must've worked for months on straightening out the track, but even the promise of riches couldn't perfectly mend centuries-old, irradiated rail.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He shifted slightly, getting a better look at the front of the car, looking for an opening, any indication of a weakness. For that matter, who was inside.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His eyes narrowed. <em>What are mutants doing all the way out here?</em></p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Then he saw the chains.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">There were four hulking brutes in total, each with a dozen loops of chain around their chest. They seemed to pause just below him, by the bottom of the rock.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">As he watched, one lashed out with a roar at a passing Gunner. The mercenary fired once, striking a glancing blow off the mutant's arm.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Back to work!"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">To Mosby's surprise the beast drew back, and the Gunner moved on.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0"><em>They're keeping them alive,</em> he thought. <em>For what?</em></p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Chains rattling, the mutants plodded back to the center of the tracks and resumed their motion forward. The car moved with them.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">They were pulling the train.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">This might be harder than I thought.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Backing away from the cliff, he considered his options. The Minutemen needed that car taken care of, and he couldn't derail it with just a snap of his fingers. That would take some doing.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">An inside job, maybe.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Yeah, an inside job. But the Gunners wouldn't let him just walk up. Not that easily.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">
  <em>Unless...</em>
</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">He remembered the nest and its cluster of eggs he'd seen, and given a wide berth to, as he'd slipped toward the origin of the metallic screech.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Not one of his best ideas, but it would do.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It was about the first act, the first shot. The first blow of a fight often determined its outcome. And this wasn't a fight he'd walk away from if he fumbled that first blow.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Gunners heard the explosion, but few paid it much mind. Distant blasts, echoing gunshots, puffs of smoke on the horizon--all normal occasions in the Wasteland.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A few minutes passed.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It was the roar that set them on edge. Anyone who roamed outside the city streets, who traveled to the distant settlements by way of dirt road or riverbank, knew that sound. And it wasn't far off.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Deathclaw," one called. "Arm up."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Gunner lounging on top of the car came to her feet and gave a sharp tug to the mutants' chains, the sign for them to stop. The train ground to a halt.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Another roar, closer now.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Private, get up there," the Captain indicated a rocky outcropping above their heads. "Get eyes on it!"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Private scrambled up the hill, disappearing from view and emerging a few moments later atop the rock. He scanned the surroundings.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I don't see it," he called. "It-oh, God-"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">His shout was cut off as he dove to the side.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">Over the edge came a Deathclaw, charging down the rock face. Its jaw hung open, horns red with blood.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">It landed hard on the ground just a few yards away, sending up a cloud of dust in all directions.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Gunners!" the Captain shouted, and a wall of laser fire commenced.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">After just a few seconds, the shooting died down.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Deathclaw was still. In fact, it hadn't moved since it landed.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"It's dead," someone said.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Well, I would fucking hope so."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Gunners on the ground turned skyward, training their laser pistols on the figure who'd just appeared.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I pumped enough lead into the bastard to bring down a Behemoth."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Captain stepped forward. "You killed that thing, just you?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The man shrugged. "Sure."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"I saw it," the Private, dusty from his fall, scrambled to the edge. "I saw the kill shot, right between its eyes!"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">A moment of silence.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The Captain lowered his rifle. "What's your name, stranger?"</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Solomon," Mosby lied. "And you all, if I'm not mistaken, look to be Gunners. Fancy that. I'm in the mercenary business myself."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"You are, are you?" The Captain adopted a twisted smile. "We could use some fresh meat. Anybody who takes down a Deathclaw by themselves proves they've got guts."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Sure. I got my own guns, just point and I'll shoot."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">The man studied him.</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">"Alright then, Solomon. You got yourself a job."</p><p class="zw-paragraph heading0">And just like that, he was in.</p>
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